


The paint's supposed to go ... where?

by bluecarrot



Series: tumblr tumblr tumblr prompts!!! [11]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Pining, painting the roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tiny little thing based on a tumblr prompt idea: "The paint's supposed to go where?!"</p><p>now with MADILTON</p>
            </blockquote>





	The paint's supposed to go ... where?

**Author's Note:**

> written 9/2/16.

"The paint's supposed to go where?"

Madison is patient, always. "The ceiling, Alex."

"It's got to be fifteen feet straight up." Or higher. "Do you have a ladder?"

"Nope."  Jemmy smiles. He's wearing ragged jeans and an old shirt and he's got paint smears on his hands and little splatter drops on his face, and it's alarmingly attractive -- especially when he bends over like that, bending paint. _Yum._

Meanwhile, Alex is all itchy sweat and nerves and he  _should not_  be thinking like this. He  _knows_  inclination and action are worked together in a tight helix, for him, and if he stays here much longer -- or gets much more interested -- he's going to wreck at least one friendship. "Um. I could go buy a ladder. No big."

"It's not such a large area. How long would it take you?"

"Five minutes? Give or take. But I can't reach it, Mads. T-Rex arms, you know?"

"I could lift you up."

"You could not." You should not, he means. Because Madison could lift Alex straight up in the air and hold him up there for an hour without much of a fuss. The problem here is Alex. The problem is: his reaction to being touched.

"Just let me try." He takes up Alex at his waist and lifts him like he doesn't weigh anything at all, and -- shit -- _shit_ \-- this could work? Maybe?

And lo, he can just reach the narrow little alcove, he can just touch paint roller to drywall. It's messy, but no one will ever notice. Hopefully.

Jemmy puts him down again, gracefully; his hands don't linger on Alex's thighs, his waist, his bum; he tries not to wish they would.

He backs away. "Um. I think I got some paint in my eye?" and he flees --

And the great, the clever, the _damnably_   _unobservant_ Alexander Hamilton does not notice the expression on Madison's face -- patient, yes, and sure, and tinged with something like regret.


End file.
